Luyện nghe bài hát Color My World Mine

I once met a man who trained not to dream
What he seems to have seen was a of everything
He's been pictures on canvas since age thirteen
And claims he only exists in the of a higher being
And I enjoy his work; mostly landscapes
But one is focused on an easel where the man paints himself painting himself
And all that's in his field
He said this was the only way he make himself real
Ever since he could remember, he had one reoccur
But until about ten years ago, it matter
It of loud, distorted sounds echoing off the concrete
He ran on top of it in to reach a ladder
Now sometimes, he'd get so but never touch his destination
Which him much frustration 'cause he didn't know what it meant
And by the end of the dream, he saw the scene from a eye
Only to his dead body laying on the cement

It was only to witness his dead laying on the cement
At first it freaked him out, but after a while he grew
So he thought, "It's a dream," and kept living his life
Writing his soul on the canvas 'cause it sheds his planet
And it on and on like space and time, ain't nothing odd
It's not that he didn't believe, he just approve of God
His experience was one I couldn't
'Till I stopped being detective and to him as a friend
He

He saw a painting that told his whole life story
It was then that he he was the art of divinity
He once saw a that told his whole life story
A stroke of the gods made him one note in their symphony
He once saw a painting that his whole life story
He spoke for himself and not the rest of
He once saw a that told his whole life story
And I realize I'm not real
God just me

like I said
About ten years ago, the event that changed his reality
place on his monthly trip to the local art gallery
It was there where he his contemporaries
And there where he nearly his sanity to a hole and buried it forever
It was a very day
The place was almost
And he got chills his spine just being present in the scene
On the wall, there was a picture looked familiar
And he got close, his heart stopped
cause he saw it was a of his dream
It was a painting of his
His body on a
By a ladder to an airplane with its spinning
Which for the loud noise
The up was perfect
And that was the day he believing in existing
He resented his
I mean, words explain
What have went on in his brain while he stared into a frame
Of a work of art he created and was at the same time
The can't handle that much, it's just insane
It's like reading a book where each words your thoughts
And in quotations, it reads whatever you say you talk
You think it can't
But it did
I guess surprisingly wide cracks in each life's sidewalk
He stumbled an answer when he never had a question
And decided to stop to maintain his mental health
Now he hardly talks to
stays in his basement
Writing infinity, by himself
Painting
is a strange universe
Is it all a blueprint?
In the real universe, is my consciousness
Are we really something a higher intelligence up?
A of imagination colored by a cosmic paintbrush?
Maybe all of our art creates the of other beings
Then every character in ever novel thinks it's alive and just gods
Ruling
a theory
I know what it means
But the story of the man who trained himself not to dream

He once saw a that told his whole life story
He witnessed the paradox of the "existing"
He once saw a painting that told his life story
He colored his world theirs, and concluded he wasn't
He once saw a that told his whole life story
The hidden variable that all is is art
And I close my eyes, I see eternity as a story
A God imagined the God imagined me
And I am God
And so on